


Wherein Scaled Things Are

by Hessanite



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Dragons, I use 'superhero' in the loosest way possible, Medical Inaccuracies, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hessanite/pseuds/Hessanite
Summary: Plaguebringer's split lip curled at the sight of the vial, and the red glow of her eyes nearly made Windsinger forget the stench she gave off.He shook the paralysis from his bones, put the vial down and began threading a needle with sterile thread. "Right, I forgot you don't do painkillers."





	1. Chapter 1

Windsinger is shaking, teeth rattling, as he flies, lands and skips and tries to fly again, only to be forced groundbound again by the Shade's seeking miasma. The Shade is a devourer of magic, and deities had more magic than any dragon could dream for.

Beside him, keeping up by sheer willpower, the Plaguebringer followed. One of her massive wings was a mess of splintered bone and torn skin, the festering nature of her blood rotting the ground she travelled, and Windsinger was torn between the longing to sprint forward, at full speed, or stay and guard his companion. Nobility won over cowardice, for now.

They exchanged glances- one pain-hallowed and red, the other round and the color of new leaves- before flaring their respective auras. While the magic fed their assailant, the light it gave off would force the Shade to flee and lick its own wounds.

They were too large for the scrubby, abandoned building  they sought refuge in, at least in their deity forms, so they depowered themselves, Windsinger shrinking into his mortal Spiral form, while Plaguebringer's rot-infested hide writhed away to reveal a Mirror dragon.

Windsinger forced the door closed-the hinges were broken, he had to jam it shut with a couch better suited for a Pearlcatcher's size. There was even a worn spot on the chin rest, perfect for resting a pearl.

Plaguebringer flopped down on the couch with a wince, no regarding decorum or elegance, and gave him a hard red stare. "Your new form's a lot younger than I thought, Singer. You look better suited for a schoolyard scuffle than gearing up for the greatest darkness the world has ever known."

Windsinger snorted, ears flicking, as he nudged closer to Plague's injured wing. The regression had left only a few splits in her skin, as opposed to a crippling mortal injury. "I'm simply going to last longer than your decrepit mortal form. Stretch your wing out please."

The pestilence spread her injured limb, tension knotted in her joints at considerable pain. This form had slightly dry scales, a flaky brick red with okapi markings dappling her throat in a ghastly shade of bruise purple, and stripes in darker red down the spines on her back. But her wing, the skin had been split in three livid lines down her shoulder, to nearly the elbow joint, deep enough for stitches even with their considerable healing capabilities.

He hummed, used a portion of magic to unravel a fold of space-time, and a small medkit fell from nowhere.

It's a neat, compact thing, and the first thing he does is grab a vial of painkiller before stopping.

Plaguebringer can't use any sort of drug which inhibits her mentally. Anything powerful enough to knock one of the deities out, was powerful enough to compromise their control over their powers. Which could actually kill Plaguebringer's mortal form. And anything powerful enough to actually dull the pain, would dull her control over her powers.

The red dragoness hissed, her lip curling at the sight of the vial, until Windsinger put it down.

He instead strung a needle, poised it over one tear in her wing, and made sure she had her teeth and claws in the couch instead of where she could strike him. She grunted as he carefully, efficiently, mended the split skin.

It took nearly an hour to get every stitch in place, and all six of his talons were cramping from the delicate work. To leave a hole in her wing could ground her for life, if he wasn't careful.

Plaguebringer tore her fangs free of the lacerated leather of the couch, inspecting the festering rot beginning to form in each hole, and carefully tested her wings. It wouldn't bear weight, but no stitches tore from the shift, so she folded them to her sides with a sigh.

"Always, it surprises me how you know so much of draconic anatomy and healing," Plaguebringer jibbed, teasing him lightly as tension bled away from her.

"I never suppress my hosts' desires, and some do want to be doctors. The body is its own form of art, I should think. After all, we crafted them when we were young things," Windsinger hummed, stretching himself out. Each turquoise wing had gold crackles on it, where dead skin took a color at odds with the rest of the form, though he though it suited the forest green of his glossy scales.

"What is this host's desire?" 

"Honestly, if I weren't sharing this body, it wouldn't do anything. Even beyond the whole...souless, 'perfect for hosting the spirit of a god' thing." He flopped dramatically to the end of the couch unused by Plaguebringer, back arching in mock despair. "No wish to travel; not a drop of adventure in this body! If it had been born a Snapper dragon, or even a Ridgeback, this would be acceptable, but shameful in a Spiral, born of my own creativity!" His mock wail made the pestilence dragon snort out a gravel-grinding laugh, and the sound made the room a touch brighter.

Windsinger's eyes sparkled, even as Plaguebringer's brow arched in horror.

He continued to make jokes throughout the night, and the Mirror deity regretted ever encouraging it.


	2. Acidic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'most evil' of the dragon deities snip and snarl at each other behind sweet words.
> 
> Windsinger thought subtlety didn't suit the two.

Shadowbinder was unique in that she would leave her chosen hosts once they became adults, usually leaving them enough residual magic to survive to a barely-shortened natural lifespan.

According to her, being a child was far better. Less responsibility to mess with her duties as the Goddess of Darkness.

Windsinger and Plaguebringer came to her realm, where everything was dark colors with seemingly random splashes of pure white light, a sub-dimension privy to her whims.

While a god was immortal, they were still incredibly vulnerable outside of their domain, and even more so in another's realm.

Which was why they usually interacted with each other solely in the physical realm; a perfect divide between all of them, setting them all on equal footing. 

But Shadowbinder's form was a child, and two strange dragons, clearly not related to her (as both species and coloration were not even remotely similar) would be sure to get the two a restraining order. It was far, far easier to give Shadowbinder the advantage, especially concerning information she needed.

"The Shade is using your realm to piggyback again." Windsinger noted how his words made the patches brighten.

"Damn! The thing chews holes through my wards faster than I can replace them!" Shadowbinder twisted into existence from a fold of light and dark, the eerie violet of her black-leaking eyes a shock against the muted landscape. Like them, she was in her true form, much larger than any mortal dragon with the aura to match. Something about her figure seemed to blend with her realm, blurring her edges from definition. In comparison, Windsinger looked almost garish with his hide of mint. Plaguebringer simply looked like she needed a bath, her perpetual state of rot and recovery currently in that 'in-between' state

 Plaguebringer smirked, baring the white bone of her skull under her lips. "Wards must be made of light, you realize. You would be better suited to asking the Lightweaver to spin your wards."

The dark goddess marched her neck in disgust. "And poison my own domain? Not likely!" She tossed her head dramatically, studying the folds of light with eerie focus. Windsinger resisted the urge to cluck at her, though he understood her feelings in the matter. But something was wrong with how she held herself,  beyond the tension any of them felt at the mention of the Shade.

"You've been busy, haven't you?"

Shadowbinder flinched at the comment, turning to stare at him with more focus. He tried to ignore the eerie ringing her attention brought, as if the pressures of darkness waited to drown him at her command.

Then she slumped. "I really have very little time to work on my wards. My host is ill. Incredibly so. She was poisoned by dragonsbane." 

Plaguebringer and Windsinger both stiffened, horrified. "Who would poison a child? How could she have gotten her claws on that noxious weed?" Plaguebringer's lips curled away to bare her fangs more prominently.

Dragonsbane was a plant which ate away at the magic of a dragon, while attacking any defenses the physical body might have. The afflicted dragon would wither away, unable to eat or drink until the cure, a plant even rarer than the poison itself, was prepared. To give it to a child, especially one of the rarest breeds, was tantamount to the worst crimes. And Shadowbinder could not leave while the dragonsbane affected her through the child, for she was the one supplying magic to them.

Shadowbinder shook her head, giving up all charades, and the breaches of light seemed to strengthen in her realm, the glow in her eyes fading so you could see the holes behind them. She looked exhausted. "I don't know! I would've sensed the ordinary plant, even if it had been eaten by the insects and animals we eat. My host's parents are completely unaffected, and incredibly worried. Worse, a majority of the cure, beoroot, is afflicted by a rot the nature dragons'magics seem ineffective on. She's dying and i can feel it. Worse than normal. I..." She curled up slightly. "I can't leave her for long. It feels like huge bubbling holes are forming whenever I leave her for too long."

Plaguebringer's eyes narrowed. "A rot, you say? I might not be able to cure disease, but I can slow it's spreading. You're our best defense against the Shade. With you out of commission, the world might very well end." She shuddered melodramatically. "Though I suppose that means interacting with my dear sister, Gladekeeper, so she won't attack me for my good deeds."

Windsinger hummed thoughtfully. "I'll spread word to the others, if you like. This is information we all need to know, a dragonsbane we can't detect." He felt Shadowbinder's nod more than saw, and felt the humming void as she split a hole out of her realm for him. As a parting gift, he nuzzled her, letting a small hunk of his own magic absorb into her dry, flaky scales.

When no more pale green flooded her realm, Shadowbinder sighed softly and turned to her older sibling, drooping. 

"You realize what this means?"

Plaguebringer nodded solemnly, before leaving a touch of her own magic on the weakening goddess and departing.

**Author's Note:**

> A little explanation: 'Hosts' are dragons born without a soul. Usually, if they aren't claimed by a deity, they burn out and die within their adolescent years. They have no magic of their own, and usually on birth they are 'claimed' by a deity, which is considered the safest and most humane way to basically steal a body.   
> The dragon deities, however, can't claim a souless dragon if it isn't 'their' kind of dragon. Both the species and element matter here, so while a Light Imperial could be used by Lightweaver, a Plague Imperial would be useless to both Plaguebringer and Lightweaver. The species matters simply because each deity created their own race, so they have a closer link with that dragon, while the element is literally a tiny piece of their own magic, which even dead dragons still have.
> 
> Now, while I enjoyed writing this, this will probably be a oneshot, or a set of one-shots revolving around this idea.


End file.
